400 Years
by Metronomeblue
Summary: OR: 400 Years, 3 Decades, 20 Hours, 1 Second, and No Time At All  A record of various things, including the Life of Adam Monroe, the Times of Ava Cross, and 400 years in the making of them both. Time-travel solves so many problems.  Adam/OC, Peter/OC


30 years is a long time. 400 years longer. He'd seen a lot. Heard more. Died more often than he could count. Loved. Hated. He'd lived, too. Oh, how he'd lived. He knew, walking down that hallway. He knew he was coming to the end, that he would have a death slow enough for all 400 years to flash on the insides of his eyelids. He knew. That didn't necessarily mean he was prepared for the rush of pain, guilt and self-loathing that came with the later years of his life. Odd, really. Here he was at the end, and he was examining his memorie, not moving up to that point, but in all different directions. It had never been like this when he had died before. Oh. So this was the end. the close. The curtain falls. El fin. Tunnel of white. Forever. Hell.

" Oi, I haven't just saved you from certain death just for you to stop breathin' from shock, you great idiot. Breathe! In, out, it ain't really hard!" The mid-tone cockney accent gave him a very odd feeling in his stomach. Muscle memory, he presumed. "I mean, Timey-Wimey girl ain't gonna let me livvit down if you go and bloody well die on me!"

"Hello, again." He sighed, fully resigned when a preliminary kick made it's way to his left shoulder. Therese never did have any subtlety.

~H~E~R~O~E~S~

~~ London, England: December 12th, 1868~~

Adam grimaced. He'd just been to the tailor, and even with regeneration, his mastery of itch-avoidance was minimal, at best. Non-existant at normal standards. Apparently itching was regarded by his ability as some odd version of a scartch or scrape.

"Violets? ...no? Lilacs!...still no." A sweet, plain-faced girl at a flower stand was politely attempting to sell flowers to those passer-by who'd spare her a glance. She seemed to be quite comfortable where she was, decked out in mussed, crocheted white fingerless gloves and shawl. Her dress was simple plum cotton and black flannel ruffled pleats. A black wool beret sat perkily atop a knot of deep brown hair and a pale, smiling face. Adam stopped, sweeping a small bouquet of violets off the table.

"Why so polite? Selling flowers isn't polite work. You have to rally people into it, suck them in." Adam straightened a leaf before she giggled, which was an oddly surprising sound, and caused him to accidentally knock over a flowerpot and simultaneously cut himself. "Ack." Her eyes widened as his hand healed and he looked up at her.

"No way." Her voice was ecstatic. "I KNEW THERE WERE OTHER PEOPLE LIKE ME!" her shout echoed, and she promptly clapped a hand over her mouth. "oops."

"Oh?" Adam grimaced, using his handkerchief to wipe the remainder of blood off of his arm. "And, pray tell, what is it you can do?"

"Luck." She stated, in a very self-satisfied tone. "I can give or take luck. I can attribute it to things, I can steal it from people. You name it. I deal in Luck." Adam looked up from his arm.

"So, if I were to ask you for one of these flowers, you could give it luck, and I would be luckier myself?" Adam asked, slightly incredulously.

"Indeed." She smiled happily. "Minna Hansen." She reached out a hand.

"Edmund Greene." He shook it, then thoughtfully added, "Call me Adam though."

"Why?" She screwed up one eye. "I mean, if Adam's your real name-"

"Let's just say that I haven't... Publicly used that particular name since the first time I left England." He explained. "...In the 1600s" He added in a murmureed afterthought. She didn't hear him.

~H~E~R~O~E~S~

~ Primatech Research, Hartsdale, New York, September 18, 1988~

Adam had known this day would come eventually. She had described it to him many times before, how she had ended up in 1672, Japan. He pressed his face to the glass, leaning into the corner of the wall. He just wanted to see her face again. She didn't pass this way often.

"CROSS!" Ava turned, knowing perfectly well what would come next. Unlike Adam, it was not because of stories related, but because of prior experience and an uncanny knowledge of habit. "Cross!"

"Yes, Sydney." Ava stated between clenched teeth.

"How are you, Cross? Well? Good. Can you stand upright for more than a minute? Two? No? Oh, that's too bad. Well, if you keep up this inherent clumsiness, I'm afraid the Company may have to fire you." Sydney Greschem, supervisor, was not a particular friend of Ava's. She never really had been. In fact, if you asked Ava, she was an opportunistic bitch who deserved to be trampled by a thousand bulls into a dumpster filled with animal dung. But nobody asked Ava, so she kept her mouth shut. "I mean, come on. You can barely walk without destroying something. And there are so many sensitive research projects here... You might kill yourself. Or more importantly, someone else. Oh. Here's some paperwork. Do it for me, would you?" Ava looked down at the paper and books already in her hands, then up at the pile Sydney was proferring toward her, and considered for a moment.

"No." Ava smiled sweetly. She skirted a frozen Sydney (Not literally, you idiots. She'd never had anyone say no to her before.), walked a few paces, and hummed a few bars of (ironically) "Wake Me Up When September Ends", which, while it wasn't strictly written yet, was one of her favorite songs. Then she tripped, about halfway through passing Adam's cell window, papers blizzarding and obscuring her from view. She put out her hands to break her fall against the hard linoleum tiles, and...

Landed on soft, patchy, green grass, which she was so surprised at that she stumbled over her arms and somehow rolled sideways onto her back, her long, fawn-brown hair falling like rays of sun around her face. Looking up, she saw tall, slim trees with soothing green leaves intermingling with patches of robin's-egg-blue sky, bound together with midday summer sun.

"Where am I this time?" She breathed more than asked.

"Just outside of Otsu, Japan, although you're either very drunk or very lost to have to ask that." An english-accented voice came from behind her. She yelped, scrambling up and around to face the man who had come up behind her. "You're definitely not from around here."

"How d'you figure?" Asked Ava, her own English accent growing stronger in her distress.

"Well, aside from the clothes, the fact that you even speak English is a wonder in and of itself." Ava's eyes flickered from the man's touseled blonde hair to his steady, shockingly blue eyes, to his... Samurai armor?

"Why?" She asked, her voice cracking in her hope that she was wrong.

"Well, it is 1672."

~H~E~R~O~E~S~

Papers flew about, floating unheeded to an empty space, a space where a certain time traveler should have landed.

"Whoa!"

"I don't get it, how did she do that?"

"What was that?"

"I don't really understand why you're so surprised. She's a time traveler after all." This offhand comment earned several glares from other prisoners. She didn't mind. She had time to spare. And she would wait. Until blood was running through the streets, until the plague broke out. Until the world was dying and they needed her again. She leaned back against the wall and asked softly. "Adam?"

"Yes."

"How many years has it been?"

"Eleven." He sounded almost apologetic. She sighed and twisted, angling her body differently.

"Great. Only nineteen more."

"Sorry." She just huffed. "I really am, Ver." He sank back down onto his bed. She had been here for longer than anyone else, and she would stay there longer than anyone else.

~H~E~R~O~E~S~

"16-bloody-72? No. Just, no." Ava had begun pacing the length of the grove she had landed in. "Can't be."

"Are you a time traveler?" Asked the man, (whom she had cut off when he had tried to introduce himself) voice careful, kept curious rather than... Something else

"Chronokinetic." She off-handedly corrected him, only partially paying attention to what she was saying. He smirked, covering it up by taking a drink of something (probably sake) from a gourd. "Not 'time traveler'- Is it really 1672?"

"Yes. Dead sure. I didn't get your name, by the way." He took a further sip of sake.

"Aviana Cross. It means bird in like, Latin or French or something." She dragged her fingers through her hair, sighing deeply and exasperatedly, still pacing.

"Hn. I'll call you birdy then."

"Why?" She asked him , half indignant, half bemused.

"Because it suits you. And because I can bet you that people will want to know who you are, and you'll probably screw up the timeline by telling them your real name. Not that I object to screwing up the timeline or anything, but I'm guessing you do." He took another swig from his gourd. "Birdy." He added.

"Ergh. Don't call me that." She shoved him over and he laughed. She was trying desperately not to smile, but she did anyway, a stray breath of laughter escaping before she flopped down on the grass and sighed. "I'm guessing you've met time travelers before?"

"Yes." His voice was quiet, subdued, his eyes far away. "I thought you hated that term." he asked, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

"I did." She quipped, hurriedly attempting not to find that adorable. "You're changing the subject."

"Yes, I am." He stared back at her, a confliction of amusement, old pain and curiosity playing through his eyes.

"I never got your name." She said, hastily adding, "And I know that was partially my fault, but still." He smirked, folding his arms.

" Kensei. Takezo Kensei." He gauged her reaction.

"Liar." She looked up at him, mirth dancing in her eyes. " You can't be Kensei. He was born in 1583."

"Where'd you hear that?" He asked, mimicking her expression and posture, flopping down opposite her in the sunlight.

"History books."

"Well, there you go. Books lie. It's what they do." Despite himself, Kensei found himself thoroughly enjoying the girl's company. She looked to be around twenty-three, twenty-four, with curious gold-blue eyes. He tried to remind himself of Hiro. Of Yaeko. Of the whole terrible affair.

But somehow he couldn't make it matter.

~H~E~R~O~E~S~

Primatech Paper, Odessa, Texas, April 3rd, 2007

"Don't turn out the lights, kiss yourself goodnight, 'cuz there's a killer and he's comin' after you!" Ava sang along with the radio as she filed away the latest reports. Honestly, she loved the twenty-first century. Much nicer than the twentieth. MUCH much nicer than the fourteenth. The fourteenth century sucked. She had nearly been burnt at the stake as a witch. Thank god for whoever invented pepper spray. Ava had decided she would stay in the 2000s for a while. After all, everyone she knew thought she was dead here.

She tripped over a stray folder, bracing herself wearily for whatever she was going to hit. Which this time ended up being water. She broke up to the surface, crawling onto a conveniently-placed large rock. She had figured out by now that her ability almost always deposited her near something she could grab onto. It was rather helpful. Sometimes. She scowled angrily at the blonde man who was currently giggling at her from the shore.

"Havin' yourself a nice dip in the Yangtze, Birdy?" Kensei smirked, reaching out a hand to help her to shore.

"No, not nice in any way. And we're in Japan, dimwit." She muttered, grabbing his hand and levering herself off the rock, and, inevitably, ending up on top of Kensei. Her left leg was somehow between his legs and her right arm had smashed his onto the ground. Her hair curtained their faces from view, and Kensei had to repeatedly remind himself that this was in no way deliberate. "Ah." She grimaced, scrambling off of him. "So sorry. I mean, I really..."

" 'S alright." He brushed himself down, standing up at the same time. "Probably my fault, anyhow. Is this how you say hello in America? Because if it is, I may just have to migrate to a completely un-American safety zone for my health." Ava had to turn away so he wouldn't see her trying not to smile.

"I'm English, remember?" She tossed her hair back, twisting water out of it. "And you can't die, so your health is no problem at all." It hadn't taken her more than a day to figure out that he couldn't be killed. No more time than it had taken him to realize she attracted trouble the same way she attracted objects. A bit like a magnet, actually.

She had inadvertently attracted the attentions of several bandits, who were all up for selling her to a criminal as a slave, when Kensei decided to defend her and promptly got stabbed in the gut. Needless to say, Ava was neither surprised, nor sympathetic, declaring that she could 'take care of herself', and that it was his own fault, after which statements she promptly took a nosedive into a tree. Neither really took the other seriously.

"Ugh! It is so a problem! What if I get beheaded? Then who will protect you?" Kensei dramatically gasped, doing a rather exaggerated imitation of a swoon.

"Me." Ava stalked off to Kensei's horse, who (surprisingly) was named Binky. She pulled a kimono out of his saddlebag.

"Wait, why is that there?" Asked Kensei curiously.

"Because. I am notorious for having wildly bizarre things happen to my clothes, and I put it there last time I fell into a river. I'll probably put it back once I've dried off." She emphasized the last few words with a yank on her sash, tying it so tightly Kensei could see exactly how thin she was.

"Have you even been eating, Birdy?" He asked, somewhat abruptly. Ava turned, absentmindedly twisting her sash between her fingers, looking, painfully, like an awkward child who was all-too used to being threatened for nothing.

"Why?" She asked, as though there was no reason for that question.

"Because you look like a twig." Ava just stared back at him, adorably uncomprehending.

"Is that... Bad?" Kensei just shook his head and sighed, affectionately throwing an arm around her shoulders and grabbing his horse's reins.

"Mad, you are."

~H~E~R~O~E~S~

Kirby Plaza, New York City, New York, April 2nd, 1977

"Okay, but I don't understand why- Of course. No, whatever you say. Yes." Laura Cross spoke into her phone with an inherent displeasure, as though she really didn't want to say what she was saying. But she said it anyway. Because she was a Company agent, and she was loyal to the last. No matter the things they did. "Of course." She bit her lip. "Adam Monroe? Why would you-... Oh." She hung up. "Ava!" The young girl ran forward, her short legs running just a bit too fast to be normal. "Come on. We have to go back to Primatech."

~H~E~R~O~E~S~

"Why is Adam being locked up?" Laura Cross stalked down the hallway of Primatech Research, quite intimidating the scientist she was interrogating.

New york, April 3rd, 2007

Peter Petrelli was the type of person who, after having a bad day, would generally go out, find a serial killer, save the world, and kick some ass. However, today there was no world saving to do, so he had come the conclusion that he would take a walk and hope for the best. He found himself, living in New York City, to be on a street of small shops. Most seemed to be open, even at seven o'clock on a Saturday night. One of these shops was a bookstore. More specifically, a bookstore named 'Alliteration's Library'. Peter thought for a moment, then shrugged. Several passers-by moved a bit further away from Peter, but he didn't seem to notice.

He crossed the street and jogged up to the door, sliding in sideways after another customer, only to find himself in an almost circular room, walled in cream and mint-blue, filled with long, deep-brown, wooden shelves filled with books, each about nine feet tall. He spun in a circle, looking up.

The second story was circular, a balcony wrapping around the lower story. hundreds of origami cranes dangled from the ceiling into the air above the bookshelves. Every crane was tied to a clear plastic piece of fishng line, floating above their heads like clouds. Only... not. They varied in sizes, colors, height. But they were all made perfectly, in an obviously time-consuming practice.

"Can I help... you." He turned, only to find himself face to face with someone he knew. A woman, in her late twenties, with dark, waist-length hair and grey-green eyes. "Peter Petrelli?" She half-asked, half-stated.

"Evangeline Logan." He smiled, taking in the sight of someone he hadn't seen in a while. "I take it you work here?" He asked, walking with her as she shelved books from the pile in her hands.

"Work here? Here, hold that." She shoved a large leather-bound book into his hands, replacing it's place on the shelf with three smaller books. "Thanks. I not only work here, I own this place. Is this bent, d'you think?" She took back the large book and shoved it between two blue bookends on the shelf above it's previous position, then opened a chain-locked tome and proffering it's pages for inspection.

"Uh, no. I don't think so." Peter replied, looking more than bewildered. "So, what happens now?"

"Hn. Well, I guess that's good." She slid it back in it's place and foisted the last three books in her stack upon a low shelf. "Now," She began, "now we catch up."

I hope you enjoyed! Please review! 


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